Your Poison
by AudibleHush
Summary: PaulSuze. "His presence pushes me out of focus, out of reality, clouding my mind with visions of lips, hands, limbs entangled, and I am addicted."
1. Default Chapter

**Your**** Poison**

**_Summary: _**_Paul/Suze. __H__is presence pushes me out of focus, out of reality, clouding my mind with visions of lips, hands, limbs entangled, and I am addicted._

**_Disclaimer: _**_I'm just defiling the original version with my own deviations like any good fanfic writer. If it were mine, I assure the lovely and talented Mrs. Cabot that the fandom would be significantly smaller. Don't sue!_

**_Author's note: _**_I fell out of love with Jesse and Suze as a couple the moment Paul Slater arrived on the scene. Don't blame me for his charisma! If you hate Paul and adore the Jess-meister, you might want to sit this one out. Everybody else – okay, okay, I'll admit. Contrivance Jones co-wrote the first half of this prologue. I know, I know! Bad authoress! Plot contrivances are to be heartily avoided! I swear Mr. Jones won't be re-appearing after this if I can help it. Although… I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you – I'm a liar. To make up for it, I vow to keep characters as In Character as I possibly can so help me God. Thanks for reading!_

_………………………_

**Prologue**

Jesse didn't come back the second time he died.

I thought he would, I really did, if for no other reason than the universe just would not be so cruel as to remove him from my life permanently after all we'd been through. How could it be, that after having him alive with me, in the flesh for a mere six months, he'd be killed just like that? It wasn't fair; not after everything I had done to bring him back to life, to be with him.

It didn't occur to me until after the shock had worn off that Jesse had been living on borrowed time. Granted, his life was unfairly stolen before he even had a chance to really live it initially, it still didn't justify his existence in my time. The fact was that I had grossly tampered with the laws of nature to bring him to me in his physical form. The love of my life, alive in a future he should never have witnessed while he drew breath was a happy side effect, but it didn't change the fact that I had altered the course of history.

Maybe six months with Jesse this way was more than we should have had, maybe it wasn't meant to be. Which, while painfully, devastatingly, disappointing, didn't change the fact that we'd still be together forever. Or so I thought.

And really, why wouldn't I? I had, after all, first met Jesse when he was a 150 year old ghost living in my bedroom. I had fallen madly in love with him before he had a body everybody else could see. I'd known I wanted to be with him while he still shimmered with that unnatural light which revealed him to be dead. Because really, that was the only thing that set him apart from any of the alive people I knew. I could still talk to him, touch him, and look into his eyes before he ever existed in this realm. Ghosts are every bit as real to me as any living person.

So when he died for the second time, I expected him to show up in his spectral form before too long. We'd mourn the loss of all that could have been, but he'd still be _here. _Sure it would be hard, and abnormal, and complicated, but we'd work it out. All that mattered was that we had each other in some form or another.

But he didn't come back.

Jesse, it seemed, did not have anything tying him to this world the second time around. A fact I struggled with for days before I finally remembered why. And looking back, I really should have paid more attention when he said it.

You would think that a person who has spent her entire life seeing a whole world most people don't even glimpse until they're dead would be just a tad more perceptive than the norm. But, surprisingly enough, my specialty seems to be missing all the pertinent clues until it's too late. Hindsight's 20/20 and all that.

Although in my defense, when the crucial utterance was made, it really didn't come across as an ominous warning to a love-struck mediator/shifter such as myself. It was more like a loving sentiment from my boyfriend, a throwaway line that didn't carry any more weight than all the other declarations of his ardor.

Besides that, I was at the time operating under the naïve assumption that the two of us had all the time in the world. Warning bells that would have otherwise sounded were trumped by the sweet dulcet tones of my love's soothing voice. I was a fool.

Because when your boyfriend tells you that thanks to your love and everything you've given him, he knows he'll die a happy man this time around? He means business.

When he compliments your mediating to the point where he "jokingly" claims you don't even need his help anymore? Don't, for the love of whatever High Power you subscribe to, tease him back with a flippant agreement!

There are so many things I know now I should have done differently, and I would have changed it too. Don't think I didn't _try _to go back in time and fix it when I realized he wasn't coming back. I didn't even start mourning until I'd attempted and failed to back-step over and over again.

But it turns out that once the ghost you're supposed to be mediating has effectively crossed over, his entire past becomes off limits to you, shifter or no.

I had worn out every avenue, attempted every possibility, basically just existed in a lovely shroud of denial before it finally sunk in. Nothing I could ever do would bring him back, and nothing would ever be the same.

Jesse was gone forever.

…………………….

Senior year began 3 months after the world came to a screeching halt, following a summer of misery and endless therapy sessions. Yep, my mother worried (let's face it – for good reason) that I might try to off myself in my state of severe depression, fell back on one of her old favorites in terms of parenting; forcing her only daughter to endure a shrink.

I don't blame her of course, and if you would have seen me in the weeks following Jesse's accident, you wouldn't either. I was a wreck, and it showed. I think, disgustingly enough, I even went close to two weeks without showering at one point. I certainly couldn't uphold the Ackerman family tradition of working or learning during vacation in my state. It was a miracle the days I even managed to get out of bed.

Anyway, Mom thought Dr. Caldwell – an accomplished therapist she'd interviewed for a news story once – would be just the person to push me back into the land of the living (Hah Hah). I don't know, I guess she was competent enough, but I really don't know if she 'fixed' me. Because, in all honesty, you don't go through losing your first _real _love without coming away altered. Even as I cooperated with Dr. Caldwell in the sessions, I wondered if I would really ever be okay again. Was it even possible to move on from this?

But then… my mother went through it, losing my dad and all, and I have to say she's pretty happy now. And I wanted to be too. Don't think I was determined to be depressed and lost, or anything else – I _wanted _to get better. I knew Jesse would want that too; it _is_ after all what all the grief counselors tell you in the support groups, and besides that it's just the way he was. He'd absolutely _hate _for me to be miserable.

So I tried, I really did, so hard to be Susannah Simon again, the person I was before his death. I approached my senior year, ready to make a fresh start. I'd be Suze, but I would be _better _in honor of Jesse's memory.

Anyway, you know what they say about the best laid plans? Yeah, it's true. Because as far as I know, the old Suze didn't have an addictive personality. But then, where Paul Slater is concerned I've never really been the greatest version of myself anyway. You could say the guy brings out the worst in me, and you'd be right, but you'd also have to acknowledge all the ways he pushes me to make the most of… well _me. _

Either way, his influence was the only thing that really connected strongly in all the disconnected months following Jesse's death. He offered me something I didn't know I even wanted, until I realized how much I _needed _it. Now before you get the impression that he introduced me to, say, crack, let me clear it up for you. It's not drugs I've become addicted to, or alcohol, or any other big no-no of the sort.

It's something far more dangerous that I need, or rather someone. Because it's _him _I crave like a hopeless junkie. It's his presence I desire. I'm sick, but I lay in his arms and he smiles against my neck and it feels too good to care. Every time I tell myself how wrong this is, he touches me with his raw, unrefined truth, and I hold onto it because it's desperately alive.

Paul Slater. My sometimes enemy, occasional friend, perpetual nemesis. My bad habit, guilty pleasure, and my weakness. My _addiction_.

Now how the hell did that happen?

_TBC…_

………………………

**_A/N: _**_Now to spend the better part of this story answering that question. Go easy – I'm a crybaby. (A lying crybaby) Ch. 1 is almost finished._


	2. Chapter 1

**_Author's note:_**_ Hey thanks for the review-age everybody! I appreciate every bit of feedback I get. Nothing much to add except to clear up a misconception – I don't hate Jesse. I love him. I'm just not so crazy about him and Suze as a couple. But you know, I'm a big fat ruin-er of canon that way – I ::heart:: unconventional couples. _

_Anyway, once again – love and stuff to those who continue to read. Cookies for everyone!_

_…………………………_

_"I watched you suffer a dull aching pain  
Now you decided to show me the same  
No sweeping exits or offstage lines  
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind  
Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away"_

- _The Rolling Stones_

**Chapter One**

Paul's "I'm sorry" was the most resonant.

The events and people fluttering about me in the wake of my loss are all a blur when I look back. Faces and words meshed together to form white noise in the back of my mind – a pitiful murmuring soundtrack to my grief. Condolences and sympathetic looks were absorbed but it was so generic, they filtered through leaving me only with kind sentiment.

Until Paul, that is whose even, matter-of-fact voice was a sharp contrast to the soft, pitying sounds I'd heard all day.

"He didn't deserve this," he said quietly, after the funeral.

His hand rested on my shoulder and he wiped tears from my cheek with a hanky he'd once stuffed in my mouth. I stood numbly and let him touch me, too indifferent to push him away. What would be the point? Telling him to piss off wouldn't make the only person I wanted near me magically appear.

"I'm sorry Suze," he said upon receiving no response. "You don't deserve this either."

I managed a faint nod, and he folded up his handkerchief and stuffed it in my coat pocket before leaving me alone once more.

I didn't speak to him again until the beginning of senior year, he wisely kept his distance and I had no desire to seek him out. But oddly enough, I thought of him in the interim. Not all the time of course, I mean, _hello! _I was grieving remember? I mostly thought of Jesse. And yet, there were moments when I shut my eyes and willed my thoughts to stray from my first love and the fact that I'd never see him again. It was then that I remembered how gentle Paul had been when he wiped my tears away, how solid he felt beside me in the midst of a spinning world.

When I wasn't feeling positively traitorous for appreciating the quiet comfort of a guy who Jesse had disliked (with good reason), I probably should have considered a few other things. Like how easily Paul slid into my mind, for one; that should have been a definite clue of what was to come. Not to mention the way I had no qualms about using his hanky to dry my tears every night. I shouldn't have held onto the souvenir, I should have returned it immediately.

The point is, you know what I said about hindsight? Well with the clarity of my retrograding vision, I can see that it all started even before Jesse died. Before he even lived for a second time. It happened the moment Paul's lips first touched mine, and I've been sitting on unresolved Slater issues ever since. Without Jesse, it was only a matter of time before I arrived here.

But if there was a moment when I could have stopped it, I passed it over that first day back.

……………………….

Here's the thing about the first day of school: It sucks. Even if you're wearing a fabulous new skirt and sweater combo from the _Christian Dior _fall collection. Even if you're _determined _to make this whole "life-without-love" thing really work for you.

It still sucks. In the history of first days of school, I can honestly say without guile that it's always a less-than-pleasant experience. Anybody who says otherwise is either one of those rare breeds who actually _enjoy _school for whatever reason, or just plain lying.

Anyway, I was still (naively) hoping to at least get through the day without any major disasters. Which, granted is a pretty tall order for any day of the week when it comes to my life, but you can't blame a girl for attempting a little optimism can you? Especially in the wake of tragedy on the first day of school. That's a double dose of Obstacle To Overcome right there.

Although alas! In spite of my best efforts, I could already see my day going downhill with the approach of _him_ at my locker assignment.

Okay, let me just say right here before I go any further, that at the time I did not hate Paul Slater. In fact, it's been a long time since I even disliked him. I mean, sure when I first met the guy he was a big tool, but people do change you know. And despite my initial determination to place him on par with The First Evil of _Buffy _fame, I can now recognize my own misplaced conceptions.

I know that he wasn't a nice guy at the beginning, but he certainly wasn't _evil. _I began to understand in the conversations following his part in Jesse's resurrection that he was just a spoiled rich brat with 'hands off' parents, used to getting what he wanted materially. Add some pretty impressive abilities to that formula, and you get the vindictive version of Paul I spent months grappling with before he finally conceded defeat.

It's been a long while since he's been that guy. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not as if he's a big saint now or anything; after he realized he couldn't have me, he became the biggest player in the school. But the influence of Father Dom, and the experience his grandfather – who he's developed a pretty decent relationship with – has served as a nice dose of reality for him.

It's hard to remain all God-complex-y and holier-than-thou when you see the destructive consequences of your actions, and get a glimpse at the pain of others. It's, as he put it, "humbling."

Although… well, let's be real here – He's still pretty well endowed in the ego department (Oh come on now, minds out of the gutter), and has a good helping of smart ass-ery at his disposal. But his previously hibernating humanitarian side has come out to provide a balance for his annoying traits. It wasn't long after he witnessed the true love that was Jesse and me in action that he started putting his skills to work. Now, I won't pretend he's a better mediator than me because, well, who are we kidding?

But he's well-connected and has a certain… _professionalism. _Paul has actually proved to be pretty good at getting morose ghosts to cut through all the shit and get straight to the point. He's efficient in his dealings with the undead, and has sent a lot of spirits on their merry way since he started taking his duties seriously.

Surprisingly enough, his work has even led him to ditch the misanthropy and I've cornered him into confessing that he actually (cue gasp here) _likes _a certain portion of the human race. He's even taken to developing a pretty affectionate mentor/mentee relationship with his little brother. (An act which I wholeheartedly supported).

The above notwithstanding, we still weren't exactly best buds or anything. I mean, of course we became friends when he started cleaning up his act – people like us need to stick together. But based on the rather tenuous (putting it mildly) relationship he had with my boyfriend, and everything else between us, we basically just kept things confined to business.

Then when Jesse died… well, I mean, forget about it. Paul was the _last _person I wanted to see. He was, after all, the biggest naysayer to our happiness when my guy was still a ghost. He promised me it would never work out between us – a pretty damned ominous warning if you ask me. Sure, he took it back later, even wished us the best of luck, but after somebody dies and crosses over… things like that really start to stand out.

Not to mention the fact that I felt like a big fat traitor for appreciating Paul's simply sincere, pity-free form of comfort and held onto his handkerchief far longer than was really necessary. The truth was I dreaded seeing Paul at school or anywhere else, because in some small place in the back of my mind, I know now I was afraid of what feeling something, _anything_ for him might mean. Like... calm down girl, your first love's body isn't even cold yet, you know?

My therapist of course said that feeling grateful to Paul at that point didn't make my feelings for Jesse any less real or strong, but… well, you know my track record with shrinks. One of them hands me some actual valid advice and it totally goes over my head while I stare dubiously at their proudly displayed PHD or whatever.

So you can understand my reservations when not five minutes into my first day back at the hellmouth, you-know-who fell into step beside me on my way to my locker.

"Hey Suze," his smile was _way _too perfect.

"Hey," I weakly tossed back, picking up the pace in a futile effort to ditch him.

"So," he took my elbow to steer me away from a collision course with a frazzled freshman, "Hear any good jokes lately?"

I stared at him dubiously until his grin turned sheepish.

"I needed an icebreaker," he explained.

"And I suppose _'How was your summer' _wasn't corny enough for your tastes?"

"Well actually…" his expression dipped into seriousness before noticing my flinch, he quickly shifted back to lightness. "No."

But the damage was done. I knew he, like so many others, would tactfully ignore any possible reference to my vacation since it was common knowledge just how I'd spent it. You know, grieving and all.

"Whatever." Done with even half-heartedly attempting pleasantries, I hurriedly brushed past him.

"Oh come on Suze," he easily caught up to me, "Don't tell me you're still determined to avoid me."

"I'm not avoiding you," I lied.

"We didn't speak all summer," he pointed out.

"Oh you mean the summer I just spent mourning the loss of the only person I will ever love, and attending endless therapy sessions?" I snapped, "Because for the record, _that's _how my vacation was."

"You're annoyed with me for not asking," he decided.

"I'm annoyed that _you _of all people suddenly feel the need to coddle me."

"I was trying to be tactful," his voice picked up an irritable edge that pleased me for some reason.

"Since when does tact factor into your actions?"

Yes, I know - low blow, and all that. And really, I don't know _why _I suddenly wanted to push his buttons. It's not as if he was being a total jerk, or anything like that, a tad clueless maybe but his intentions were good. I just knew that his irritation was causing me to smile inwardly and I wanted to continue with that theme. It was after all, a whole lot better than the numbness I felt most of the time.

"Okay fine, you want me to ditch it, I will." He stopped next to my locker and faced me, "How was your summer, Simon?"

"It sucked."

"Great. Mine too by the way, thanks for asking. I spent a good deal of it in Antigua with my uncle on possibly the most boring archeological expedition ever."

"How nice for you."

"Not really."

"Good." I turned to my locker and aggressively spun the combination, "So are we done here? Now that forced pleasantries are out of the way, I mean."

He sighed loudly and leaned against the locker next to mine, "You just always have to do things the hard way don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I stubbornly replied.

"Fine. Whatever," he shoved himself away from the locker, "Have your space."

"Thanks," I said tersely.

"But you're wrong about one thing, Suze."

I knew even then that I shouldn't have indulged him, but sometimes these things can't be helped. So even as my better judgment protested I raised my eyebrow and asked just as he knew I would,

"And what exactly would that be?"

"Jesse wasn't the only person you'll ever love," he explained and would have walked away after dropping that little point to ponder if I hadn't grabbed his arm to stop him.

The remark stung, of course. How dare he suggest that I would love somebody else after I'd already resigned myself to the inevitability of dying alone? It hurt way too much to think that another could ever take his place.

"And what the hell would you know about it?" I demanded, "Because last I checked, you weren't exactly an expert on these things."

"I know that you're only 17," he said matter-of-factly. Then his voice dropped an octave or two, "And I know that you're way too passionate to escape falling in love again for the rest of your life."

"That's bull," I glared at him. "I'll never find another guy like Jesse."

"No, I don't suppose you will," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean you're destined to be alone forever either."

"Have you and Dr. Caldwell been comparing notes?" I demanded, "Because you're starting to sound a lot like her."

"Well then maybe I've found my calling."

"Oh that's good," I rolled my eyes. "Listen Paul, you're both wrong, okay? I happen to know it for a fact."

"Oh really?"

I sighed, "Yes, _really. _Somebody told me a long time ago that I would only have _one _true love. That means, Jesse by the way. And now that he's gone, so is any chance for happily ever after, alright?"

"What a crock," Paul mimicked my previous actions and rolled his own eyes, "Who fed you that garbage?"

I really don't know what possessed me to tell him, and had I been thinking rationally instead of getting caught up in the moment, I wouldn't have. But I was way past logic at that point.

"A psychic I visited once," I admitted.

He actually laughed. I couldn't believe it either on account of the fact I was _baring my soul_ and all. But apparently where Paul was concerned, old habits die hard. He must have noticed my indignant expression though, because he wrapped it up a moment later.

"I'm sorry Suze," he sounded sincerely apologetic, "But, I mean come on. A _psychic_?"

"So what?" I demanded, "I'll have you know she happened to know that I speak to the dead. That seems pretty authentic to me."

"So she knew some things about your present," he argued. "That doesn't mean you have to accept her take on your future."

"Why not?"

He gave me his patented 'You-have-much-to-learn-young-grasshopper' look and leaned towards me, placing his hand on my locker in a half-hearted version of his 'trap' maneuver.

"How many times do I have to tell you Simon," he said, "That _you _forge your own destiny. Even if a psychic gives you some vague look at what's in store for you, doesn't mean you don't have the power to change it."

"I don't know Paul. In my experience, love isn't something we mere mortals have much control over."

"Maybe not," he conceded, "But your fate isn't set in stone either. I mean even if the cards were true, who says Jesse was the one you were destined to be with anyway?"

"Of course he was," I felt some of my anger returning at the suggestion. "I _loved_ him."

"I never said you didn't," he told me, "You can love a lot of people in your life whom you just aren't meant to be with."

"That's -,"

"True," he interrupted before I could protest any further. "If the Universe was so determined that he was the one for you, then why -,"

"Stop it!" I cut in, "Don't say it, Paul. I'm warning you, do not finish that sentence."

Because I could absolutely not bear to have it verbalized, what he was about to suggest. Why did Jesse die if we were meant to be together? Didn't the psychic say it was supposed to last until the end of time? But then, the absurdity of such a statement only added fuel to Paul's argument. _The end of time. _Such an obviously stock fluff fortune for the gullible public, like staring at somebody's palm and claiming they'd live a long and full life. It was so generic, so vague. For all I knew, Madame Whatzername tossed it out there to console me for the creepy 'You talk to the dead' reading that preceded it.

Sure, the ninth key card that came up was accurate, but just because she got one hit didn't mean the other was a miss. Who ever said fortune telling was an exact science?

And then there was the fact that Paul could very well be right about Jesse not being my one true love, as painful as it was to admit. I mean, I loved him more than I ever thought I could love another human being, but was he _the one_? Whose to say we wouldn't have eventually broken up somewhere down the road? For all I knew, all first loves could be that intense, but how many of them actually lasted well into adulthood?

Of course, the state I was in, these things didn't really stick. I loved Jesse way too much, and was way too undone by his death to presume I would _ever _recover, let alone move on to somebody else. Even if I knew he must have wanted it that way.

"Look I'm sorry, alright?" Paul said for the second time in the space of five minutes (a definite record), "Just… don't cry, Suze."

I was crying? Oh shit, I realized a second later feeling the wetness on my cheeks, I _was_. How humiliating to not even make it to homeroom without having a breakdown. If this was any indication of how the rest of the day was going to be, I supposed I could kiss that whole 'have a decent first day' resolution goodbye.

"Here," Paul offered me his sleeve which of course reminded me that I still had his hanky. Not that I intended to give it back any time soon, of course.

I hated to sully his navy blue cashmere with my tears, but in a move that mirrored my actions at the funeral, I let him dry them.

"I just…" I tried to compose myself, aware of the attention we were attracting, "Miss him."

"Well no shit. It was obvious to anybody who saw the two of you together how much you loved each other."

I didn't know how he knew just the right thing to say in that moment, but he did nonetheless, and I managed the faintest smile as I pushed his arm away.

"That shirt is too nice to ruin."

"Was that… a compliment?" he feigned incredulity. "No, no, I must be mistaken. Susannah Simon would never stoop to complimenting the likes of me."

"You are mistaken," I assured him dabbing at the residual wetness on my cheeks with my own sleeve, "The compliment was bestowed upon your shirt."

"Close enough," he decided, studying me carefully. "You know I really didn't mean to…"

"Be an insensitive asshole?" I supplied when he seemed to falter.

"Okay, we'll go with that." He suddenly turned serious again, "Look Suze, just… don't completely disregard what I said because you're upset."

"But Jesse-,"

"I know, I know." Now he was focused, blue eyes holding mine with some of that trademark Slater intensity, "But don't let his death stop you from taking your future into your own hands, and…"

"If love comes a'knockin' answer the door?"

"I wouldn't have used a cliché," he assured me, "But yeah."

"You know, a lady with A PHD had no problem using that cliché," I informed him, "So don't act so imperious."

"This shrink of yours obviously knows what she's talking about," he observed.

"Yes, it's really quite impressive how she dishes out the same advice an 18 year old guy with no formal education is offering me now."

He grinned, "Touché."

The bell chose that exact second to ring which I now attribute to divine intervention, because had the moment stretched on any longer I could have been in serious trouble. Well, at least if the way my pulse started racing at the sight of his smile was any indication. Because for one, how traitorous was I getting all gooey over some guy's grin a mere three months after Jesse passed away. Especially if the guy was, oh I don't know, _his arch enemy? _

And secondly, why was I even carrying on a conversation long enough to elicit that smile with a guy I was supposed to be _avoiding _at all costs?

"Well there's our cue," I said thankfully, collecting my things and hurrying towards homeroom. "See you around okay?"

I didn't give him a chance to catch up this time, freaked out as I was by my stupidly treacherous pulse that couldn't maintain a normal rate. Why wouldn't my body mourn the way my heart did?

Either way, I was grateful that the powers that be were at least kind enough to make up for my faithless body by getting me out of the situation.

Of course, moments later I discovered that the Universe wasn't as generous as I previously supposed. Because who should saunter into my homeroom mere moments after I'd sat down and casually take the empty seat next to me?

Yeah, you got it in one.

And you know what the really sick thing is? I was actually glad to see him.

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 2

**_Author's note:_**_Thanks to everybody whose still kicking around a few months later. I appreciate you all waiting it out while I got my shit together. _

_And on THAT note, I'm upping the rating to 'M' because I can't stay away from profanity, plus there will be some subject matter not suitable for kiddies. You'll have to excuse my unladylike tendencies. Thanks for the love, folks… and for not eviscerating me for killing off Jesse!_

_……………………………_

_"Memories, they wash my mind  
Like the frozen rain  
I am numb here but I can't forget the pain  
Death was yesterday  
And somewhere I have never seen  
So never mind tomorrow boy  
Tomorrow's never been  
…And I found you at the River of Styx all alone"_

_- High Holy Days_

**Chapter 2**

"Honey I'm home," I muttered darkly, crossing the threshold of my bedroom.

Spike looked up from his spot on the window seat and responded with a sullen glare before going back to licking his paws. The cat, once again my roommate had almost outdone me in terms of moping since Jesse passed away, which I found unspeakably odd considering we're referring to an especially mean feline here.

But, Jesse had loved the thing – more than he loved me I used to tease – and Spike thought he was just peachy for a human. Which was why I couldn't very well take him to an animal shelter after his owner abandoned us for the other side. For _his_ sake, I brought the high-strung fleabag home with me. Mom had understood.

"Nice to see you too."

Tossing my things on the floor in a heap, I used up my last reserves of energy to throw myself on the bed. I wanted to tune out a bit before dinner, try to recover from the sensory overload I'd been experiencing all day.

Nobody warns you about that post-tragedy. The way everything you used to barely acknowledge for its normalcy suddenly becomes loud and intrusive, I mean. All the little mundane details of High School life, from Kelly Prescott talking about her tan to Mr. Walden using the electric pencil sharpener at his desk, are transformed from background noise to rude interruptions.

Your thoughts are no longer able to wander at their leisure, but speed ahead on a collision course with a subject, or rather _person _you're desperately trying to avoid. Combine this with the added bonus of a certain nemesis/tentative friend taking up your passenger seat and you basically have more going on than you can handle. The last thing you need is Debbie Mancuso throwing herself in your path with questions about Dopey's summer fling with that "RLS slut" who works _Wendy's_.

Then there were the Jesse comments.

Everybody knew what had happened, and everybody had to express their belated condolences. Don't get me wrong, it was nice and all, but it felt like his funeral all over again which of course just brought up all the memories and attached emotions.

I was supposed to be working on moving on, but my well-meaning classmates insisted on repeatedly reaching inside to rescue all those unwanted feelings from where I'd tried to bury them. Resurfacing pain eroded the repaired portions of my heart like acid, and I subsequently spent most of the day warding off breakdowns. By the end of it, I was exhausted.

So you can see why after all that I just needed to fall out of reality for a while. I wanted to put my head down and confide in my pillow, letting my tired body nudge my troubled mind into the solace of dreams.

I didn't really think it was so much to ask for; I'd paid my dues and played normal (for the most part) at school like a good little girl. Who could begrudge me a little nap?

Well, the spirit world for one. I've said it before that ghosts are rude and have no concept of appropriate social etiquette, particularly involving business hours. A ghost will materialize before you right in the middle of dinner, but won't apologize for the inconvenience. They'll jerk you out of a dead sleep, but you'll never hear a "Sorry to wake you."

Which was why it was with mild surprise and extreme annoyance that I met my latest "client" not two seconds after I'd rested my head on my pillow.

A shimmering specter of a girl a few years older than me appeared at the foot of my bed and poked my sock-clad foot, "Susannah Simon, right?"

I glared at her. She was blonde and petite in an oversized sweatshirt and tattered jeans, hair loose and shiny around her pretty face, gray eyes watching me with amusement.

"No."

Her lips twitched wryly, "They told me you'd be difficult."

Oh great. I had to roll my eyes at that one.

"What, you guys like, _discuss _me now?"

"Over drinks," she shot back cheekily.

I sighed and pushed myself up into a sitting position. Adding to the joys of my wonderful day back at school, I now had to contend with my absolute favorite type of ghost – a wiseass. (And yes, the eye roll is implied).

"Alright, alright," I rested an elbow on my knees and regarded her warily. "Let's just get this over with."

"Nice work ethic," she sarcastically observed, taking a seat on the bed.

"Yeah well, get back to me on that one when the hours and pay begin to approach reasonable." I yawned, "Anyway, this is seriously cutting into my naptime, so if you wouldn't mind getting to the point…"

She picked up a shimmering strand of hair and began twirling it around her finger, "I suppose I should probably introduce myself."

"If it's relevant, then yeah that's a good place to start."

I know, I know. Callous, right? But I was in a rather unreceptive mood. The last thing I needed to deal with in my state was a snarky ghost whose own mood dictated she beat around the bush.

"Angela Grayson; perpetual failure, bad influence, disappointment to her parents, _and_," she smiled with false cheer, "Junkie."

"Huh?"

She rolled up the left sleeve of her enormous sweatshirt, studying her forearm with a pained expression. I took a closer look and… _Oh. _Now it made sense. Track marks dotted her pale skin in neat little rows, perfectly aligned as though she'd used a ruler to space them out evenly. The fresher ones stood raw and bruised against the old faded scars, a veritable map of when each needle had landed.

"I see," I said finally in a low voice, hostility dissipating.

"Yeah," she pulled the sleeve back down. "That's what did it. Overdose."

A long pause followed in which I tried to think of something consoling to say. I don't know why I felt like I had to; usually my associations with the dead are less about comforting and more about getting down to business. If they want a shoulder to cry on, they can go harass Father Dom – I don't exactly _do _condolences.

Which isn't to say I don't feel sorry for the lost souls I come into contact with regularly, I mean I'm not heartless. It's just that when you see as many as I do and a good portion of them find it essential to be self-centered, troublesome, and just all around _obnoxious _you get past the pity stage pretty quickly. Also, I've never been the touchy-feely, here-let-me-give-you-a-hug type. I can throw down like you wouldn't believe, but people skills are something I definitely need to work on.

Anyway, despite all of that, kind words of some sort seemed to be required under these particular circumstances. I mean, if you'd seen her, you'd get it. Her eyes were so sad and regretful as though in the marks on her skin she was witnessing the remains of something she both despised and missed. And she was young; maybe nineteen when she'd died, by the looks of it.

But what really got me was the fact that she didn't look like a drug addict at all. With her cute face and casual clothes she looked like a normal girl. Somebody I could have been friends with.

Finally, when no words came to me that didn't sound flat and artificial, I settled for a faint commiserating smile. An olive branch of sorts – I was willing to sacrifice my nap and help her in any way I could.

"So Angela," I began.

"Angel," she corrected me with a smile stronger than my offering. "My friends all used to call me that. Get it? Like calling Robin Hood's gigantic sidekick _little _John."

"Irony," I acknowledged. "Funny."

She shrugged, "In a way. You know what's _really _funny, though?"

"What?" I indulged her.

"I think I _am _irony now that I'm dead," she informed me. "I mean, the last three years of my life were spent in a wasteland of sorts. The world was colorless and empty when I was sober, it made no sense when I was high. But it was comforting in ways I can't even properly describe now, it was… like I was living to the fullest extentwhile my body was decaying. That final trip that sent me over the edge was the most _alive_ I've ever felt."

She stopped to regard me intently, "Still with me?"

I nodded.

"So there I was, literally _dying _but painfully, vibrantly, alive," she continued. "And now I _am _dead and _now _I see everything I was too out of it to notice when it actually mattered. I'm finally completely sober and not thinking about my next fix, and I can't even smell the roses. I've made a complete recovery, but I've recovered nothing. Tragic irony."

"Um…"

I was a little speechless. The only other ghost I'd ever had really substantial conversations with was Jesse, and Angel's thoughts reminded me of him. Not just because he'd spent so much time analyzing various aspects of life and waxing philosophical, but her words communicated a sense of hopelessness and wistfulness.

Which of course made me think of how Jesse and I would never meet again in this life. I was certain there was a nice dose of tragic irony in our situation and how it had played out. I just didn't think I could handle the pain trying to work it all out would bring. I hurt enough already.

Angel noticed my expression and chuckled softly, "Sorry Susannah. I swear I didn't initially come here to lay a big heavy on you."

"Right," I cleared my throat. "You came because you need guidance to the other side right? Don't worry; I just so happen to be an expert in these matters."

"Actually, I don't need your guidance," she informed me. "Not that I doubt your skills, or anything. It's just that I _know_ what's keeping me here."

"I'm listening."

"My parents," she explained. "I won't be able to leave until I see for myself that they're finally able to move on and stop blaming themselves for my death. It's kind of a natural progression of things, not something you can really help with."

I saw her point. It was kind of like my dad and why he had to hang around all those years to keep an eye on me. He had to be convinced for himself that both mom and I would be okay without him, and while I'm of the opinion that he could have taken off a lot earlier, he had his own ideas regarding what constituted 'okay.' I had little control over it all.

"Okay…" I watched her closely, "I get it. But then, why _did_ you come here if not for my help?"

She shrugged, "Conversation, I guess. With the living. It gets lonely out here."

"Oh."

This was new and different. Spirits didn't usually come around just to talk. They wanted me to go out of my way to help them move on. That, or they spent a lot of time on the receiving end of my fists for objecting to peacefully crossing over.

But they never actually approached me for a chat and why would they? Most ghosts find the living (that's me, by the way) annoying for their… aliveness. But I guess Angel saw the world a little differently. Like Jesse, I couldn't help but note.

"Yeah. Anyway, you go ahead and take that nap now," she rose from my bed. "I'll see you around."

Then, she disappeared before I could say anything else. I could have called her back, but for what? It was already pretty obvious that she'd be hanging around here periodically now that she'd taken the time to introduce herself and get all deep. I'd see her again soon enough.

In the meantime I fell back onto my pillow… to find that I was no longer tired. Well, actually I _was_ still tired, I just wasn't in that space where physical exhaustion could smoothly transfer to actual sleep. My mind was too busy now, and wouldn't settle down.

Angel's words plagued my thoughts, the track marks marring my vision, a hazy connection forming between the wasteland she claimed her life to be and _my_ life without Jesse.

_Tragic irony._

Falling in love with a ghost, bringing him back to life, and having him die mere months later only to cross over.

I stood up and moved away from the bed towards my door, putting as much distance as I possibly could between myself and the room where it all began. Where I met him, and talked to him, and fell for him. Where I was haunted by memories on top of memories, but not by _Jesse._Where suddenly, heartbreakingly, I'd never felt further away from him.

_……………………………_

I found myself at the graveyard.

Jesse's headstone stared back at me, rising from the moss and weeds, glum and sullen and here where he wasn't. I placed fresh flowers in the designated pot, watering them with tears that fell unbidden from my face. There was no need for restraint here where I was alone and crying was appropriate. I didn't have to pretend everything was okay or act like I wasn't having so much trouble moving on.

I don't know how long I stood there crying and missing him, before another presence made itself known. It could have been hours, minutes, seconds – time became lost inside my grief. I do know that when he showed up, he was careful not to shatter the silence which had been settling around me since my sobbing became less vocal.

"There is no rule more invariable," Paul followed his low voice to come stand beside me, "than that we are paid for our suspicions by finding what we suspect."

I regarded him in my peripheral vision. A dark curl fell away from the rest of his hair to rest against his forehead, and his eyelashes looked particularly long and thick from this angle.

"Henry David Thoreau," I acknowledged in a hoarse voice, recognizing the poet as a favorite of my dad. I waited a beat before asking, "So what did you suspect?"

"That I'd find you _here_," he replied, "When you weren't at your house."

I took my eyes off Jesse's gravestone long enough to cast a speculative glance in his direction, "How did you know?"

"His body, six feet under, is the last physical remnant of his life in this world," Paul explained. "You feel the strongest connection to him here."

"Right," I stared at the sullen ground. "Except it's not even close to enough. He feels so far away."

Paul stepped in front of me, filling my vision with his navy blue sweater and the way he filled it out so perfectly. He reached for my face collecting my tears with his deceptively gentle fingers, and I watched him brush them away on his pants.

"He's gone, Suze. You can't change that." He tilted my chin upwards, forcing me to meet his eyes, "I know there's a part of you that still thinks there's some loophole that will bring him back to you, but you're wrong. You need to lose that part of yourself."

"Yeah, you'd just love that, wouldn't you?" I accused. "For me to let go, and forget, and move on. To lose myself in you."

"Everybody wants that for you," he replied, unfazed by my rising irritation. "You can't live in the past forever."

He moved closer, enough for me to absorb his warmth and it spread through me, chasing away the cold. His fingers fell away from my chin to slide down my neck, slowly, drawing faint tremors from my body.

"To continue in the Thoreau vein," his breath caressed my cheek, "live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment."

I couldn't stop myself from trembling as he brought his other hand around to grip my waist. His touch was so familiar, so hot and urgent, eliciting swift response. Sparks of treacherous desire lit up within me, a raw, instinctual reply to his coaxing. It was lust, pure and simple. Biological, chemical, inherent _need _that ignored my emotional protests, held no reverent memory of Jesse.

But _I _did, and as such could not allow this to happen. So even while my baser instincts answered favorably to Paul's unspoken questions, I firmly extricated myself from his embrace seconds before his lips touched mine.

"Very tempting Paul," I admitted, angry with myself for almost giving in and him for putting me in the position. "And that's exactly why you came here – to find me alone and vulnerable so you could… could… _take advantage._"

He held my gaze unflinchingly, annoyance reflected in blue eyes – the same look he wore every time I pushed him away before we could do anything serious. He didn't respond to my accusations, and he wasn't going out of his way to deny them.

"Huh. Right." I rolled my eyes, "The new improved Paul with honorable intentions. What a joke."

"I've changed in many ways Suze, but stop acting so righteously indignant and don't pretend I'm being disingenuous." He stepped forward, invading my personal space once more, "My intentions towards you have never been _honorable._"

Which was true. He'd been after my body from day one, khaki shorts which made my butt look huge and all.

"I won't do it," I said in a softer voice. "Not standing here literally over my boyfriend's dead body."

He took my hand, pulling me towards him, "Where then?"

"What?" I jerked away, "Not… I mean, _Gawd _Paul, _nowhere._"

"Okay, okay, I get it. You would not could not here or there, you would not could not anywhere," he grinned, "That's Dr. Seuss."

A far cry from Thoreau. I couldn't help but smile back.

I didn't know it then, but I was experiencing a turning point. He'd told me to lose a part of myself and I'd protested, but it was already beginning to ebb away.

I _did _want to lose myself in Paul. I wanted to run to him and collapse, let him surround me, pushing every piece of pain away. I wanted to find all the happiness I'd lost buried inside of him.

He extended his hand towards me once more, a gesture of friendship, and I took it. He led me away from the graveyard, back into the world, and I held on.

_TBC…_


End file.
